


Here the monsters are

by ryoshi



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Gen, I dunno an idea appeared and I went with it, Mild description of injuries, Panic Attack, i just have a lot of feelings, post-interrogation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25443346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryoshi/pseuds/ryoshi
Summary: They had won, they had fooled everyone and their precarious plan had worked. So why did it feel as though he had lost?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 46





	Here the monsters are

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I haven't written fan-fiction or anything of the sort in about 8 years so please go easy on me. I just have a lot of emotions™ about this because you know the boy was NOT okay at first. So here, have some badly written feelings, I guess. 
> 
> You're welcome. 
> 
> (Also, no, I couldn't come up with a decent ending so I just went with it)

Sleep just didn't come easy anymore.

The night was dark, it was cold, it was unforgiving no matter how much he hunkered under the sheets to try and stay warm. The blackness engulfing him the perfect setting for the monsters and night terrors to rise up every single time he closed his eyes. The nightmares always came every night without fail, their long talons long and vindictive, endlessly searching through his brain and dredging up everything he had desperately tried to repress. Every little emotion and feeling brought to the forefront of his mind to torment him. The memories that haunted him endlessly during those long, uneasy, nights.

Akira Kurusu was tried.

He was in agony.

But he couldn't sleep.

Each breath shuddered through him as he lay there, the inky silence around him only heightening the rough sounds of his own breathing. The sound of his erratic pulse, the sound like a wounded animal as he tried to shift, to desperately try and find some semblance of comfort. Akira felt as though he had been run over by a truck, heavy bruises splashed across his chest, his arms, his legs, his face. Wrists red and raw from struggling hard in handcuffs. It was as though he had been pained in every color of the rainbow in some artists twisted imagination.

They had won, they had fooled everyone and their precarious plan had worked. So why did it feel as though he had lost?

Every time he closed his eyes he was back in that cold interrogation room. _The cold metal around his wrists chafing them raw as he struggled, his heart pounding in chest almost begging to break free of his ribcage, pain flaring up with every boot connecting with his ribs, a soft whimper as he tried to curl into himself on the floor, gasping for breath as it was kicked out of him_ , _the drugs flowing like ice through his veins, the room around him fuzzy and unfocused no matter how hard he tried to concentrate_.

It had been a couple of days now but each injury littering his skin felt as fresh as the day he had been given them. And as each day passed, Akira was finding it harder and harder to keep up the brave face he put on in front of the others. It was just a mask, just like the one he wore every time they entered the metaverse and he took on the form of Joker. A last-ditch attempt to try and appear strong like the leader he was supposed to be, to pretend he wasn't hurting, to pretend that he wasn't scared like some small child.

This was not how the leader of the notorious Phantom Thieves was supposed to act. He was supposed to be unflinching, an overconfident smirk on his lips, eyes shining behind his mask, dauntless and unafraid to jump head-first into danger. He was Joker, the stealer of hearts and the seeker of justice. Not what he was now – scared and fearful.

To the media, to the rest of the world, he was supposed to be dead.

And he sure felt like it at that moment.

His whole body shuddered as Akira took a sharp intake of breath as another round of pain crashed through him, teeth catching against his bottom lip. He held it for just a moment, a soft grunt of effort as he moved against the mattress, blinking against the darkness around him. With some effort and a lot of short gasps of pain, Akira slowly sat himself up, slowly moving his legs from the bed, softly placing his feet against the cold floor, almost too afraid to put any pressure on them as if they were about to snap right from under him the moment he did.

Even with the bare glimpses of bright moonlight streaking through the shutters across the window, Akira could see the sorry state he was in. And, at that moment, he was thankful that Morgana was staying with Futaba for the time being. It was hard enough to try and keep himself together when there was no one else around. He just didn't want to worry them, put any doubt in their minds that he wasn't capable of seeing this through to the bitter end.

The first time he had seen everyone after everything and Ryuji had wrapped a friendly arm around his shoulders and he saw the relieved look on each of their faces that he was still alive, Akira had almost broken down in tears. But he had managed to hold it together, for their sake more than his own. Not that they would ever know it.

He allowed himself to pretend for just a brief moment that he wasn't hurting (that Ryuji's fingers _weren't_ digging right into a big bruise on his upper arm).

Cool and collected as ever he had smiled, he had joked about his brief brush with death, reveled with them how they had done what they had set out to do. He pushed down the vulnerability and the pain trying to sneak out, he had hidden the wounds as best he could. Though they had been told what he had been through, Akira didn't want them to see the results for themselves. Even as they spoke about it he subconsciously tried to move his sleeves further down his wrists to hide the bandages threatening to poke out. He needed to be strong, be the leader the needed. So he had sat up straight despite the protests his body gave him, masked his emotions and put on a brave face to the world.

It was only after they had gone did that mask start to crack, pain flickering back onto his features, the sharp intake of breath as he moved to stand up, having to use the table for support so he didn't collapse. The feeling of all the blood rushing to his feet the moment he rose. Even when Sojiro had moved without hesitation to help him stand properly, Akira had brushed him off, gritted his teeth, and gotten on with it. He could do it himself. He had to do this himself.

But now he was alone in the dark, nothing but his own haunted memories. Here in his own company, he could allow the weakness to come pouring through the cracks in the mask. And Akira, frankly, didn't think he could stop them even if he wanted to.

Even now as he sat quietly perched on the edge of his bed he felt more lost than he had ever felt before in his life. Life had thrown a lot of things at him in the past, the false charges, the criminal record, being sent away by his own parents, feeling like a disappointment to them, the countless completely crazy things he had been through over the past couple of months. But even through all of that he had always had and sense of what to do. His sense of righteousness and justice had stood firm. How he was going to cope and overcome the challenge presented to him. How to pick himself up when he was knocked down and keep moving forward. But right now? Right now he couldn't even look past leaving his bed.

And he knew it was foolish, he had been through so much worse in the metaverse. This was different. In there he felt in control, he felt strong like nothing in the world could defeat him. In the metaverse, he was confident and cocky Joker who had been through so much and was still standing. But this was the real world and here he was just Akira Kurusu, Shujin high school student and wrongly labeled delinquent. Not anyone of any importance. Nothing special.

Squeezing his eyes closed for just a moment, it was only a brief second before the flashbacks started to come back to him, so vivid, so real. Like he was still trapped in that room. _He could still see the faces of the men who had beaten him, been so eager to stick needles in his neck, how much they seemed to enjoy kicking him while he was down. Their threats still ringing in his ears, the feeling of a heavy heel stepping down on the side of his head as he lay helpless on the floor, how much every fibre of his being was screaming at him in pain. How they had grinned at him as they shoved the confession in his face for him to sign, his leg threatening to break as the foot hardly pressed down on it after he had refused._

Akira felt his fingers curl against the edge of the bed almost subconsciously, breath hitching in his throat as he struggled to breathe like someone had a cold hand around his throat. His heartbeat increasing as panic flared up in his chest. _He was trapped, so alone, so helpless. He was going to die there in that room and no one was going to care. No one was going to stop it from happening. The plan they had meticulously come up with wasn't going to work. Something was going to go wrong. Akechi was going to triumph and nestle a bullet precisely in-between his eyes._

A choked sob brought him harshly back to reality as his eyes snapped open again, his room slowly coming into focus around him as the nightmares retreated back into his head almost as fast as they had appeared. It took him a short moment to realize that the sob had come from himself. His whole body was shaking like a leaf on a windy day, skin as white as a sheet and clammy to the touch, tears haphazardly streaked across his pale cheeks and heart hammering in his chest.

It even took his brain time to even recognize where he was, that he wasn't in danger anymore. That he was safe here. For the time being.

Struggling back another sob, Akira slowly uncoiled his fingers from the edge of the bed, trying to relax, un-tensing his shoulders. A hand slowly moved to his eyes, gingerly wiping the tears away before any more could appear. He slowly took in another breath, breathing out again just as slow despite the sharp pain. It took a couple of breaths but his heart-rate started to slow again, breathing coming just a little easier as it settled back into a normal rhythm. The panic tightening his chest dissipating. Though still, each small movement sent an ache ricocheting through him, reminding him of what he had gone through only days prior.

But wasn't that the point?

He had survived. He had gone through it and, against all the unbeatable odds, he had _lived_.

And right then at the realization he almost felt something shift in his mind, as though something was clicking back into place. Whatever they had managed to brake in his head in that dark interrogation room was fixing itself.

Akira straightened up from the slouch where he sat despite the protests his body gave with a newfound determination. He had endured, he was sitting there right now on the edge of his bed, alive and breathing, and no one could take that away from him. Not even Goro Akechi. He had surmounted all the odds life had thrown at him in the past and was still capable of lifting his head up and moving on from it. And this time was no different. While he might be hurting, the pain would pass, the wounds would heal in time and soon all of this would be nothing more than a bad memory. He was better than this, he knew he was better, he could come back from this stronger than before.

Finally, for the first time in days, Akira found one corner of his mouth twitching upwards into a smirk. It felt right on his features like it belonged there.

There was still a lot of work they needed to do and sitting around moping in bed was absolutely not getting anything done. The Phantom Thieves needed their fearless leader back. They needed Joker and well, who was he to disappoint them?


End file.
